


Find an Honest Word

by mangacrack



Series: Season of Kink (2017) [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Glorfindel, Dom/sub Undertones, Gondolin is a fucking Mess, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Power Play, Sex Toys, Turgon is a Creep, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: Falling in love is difficult, when there's always someone watching you. Even more so, when it's the King himself.





	Find an Honest Word

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the "Season of Kink" Bingo on Dreamwidth.   
> Objectification (for the card), 
> 
> further Kinks: In Public, Non Impact Pain Play, Breath Play, Toys

  **# 1**

 

"Spread you legs a little," comes the command. 

Glorfindel obeys, though he takes care to hide most of his face in the pillow. He wants to hide his embarrassment as best as he can. Something about the situation makes it impossible to school his features as he should. In battle he has little problem hide his emotions. But then, in battle he's dressed in armor. Right now he's completely naked, not counting the single scarf made of silk and draped over him. 

The scratching of a pencil on paper is the only thing Glorfindel hears for a while. Outside the sun shines down from a cloudless sky and through the open window the usual noise reach his ear. There's a maid running down the stairs. Young soldiers practice in the yard and two older Lords are laughing over a joke. None of them would ever guess that their proud Glorfindel is laying in the bed of the prince. Most only his side and with his back turned towards his watcher. 

The scratching continues and Glorfindel can't tell if it's good that he can't Maeglin's eyes travelling over his body. 

Paper rustles, which means Maeglin is starting over. 

Dreading what comes next Glorfindel holds his breath. Laying on a bed mostly naked is one thing. He has learned to pretend after a while, it's not their first session together. Unfortunately  because this all started out with Maeglin drawing various people, while sitting in the Royal Garden. One day the King walked by and complimented him, praised a specific picture of Glorfindel. A rather well done piece of art, sketched in half-profile while the Lord himself stood a little further away, talking to Ecthelion.

After that the King had requested _more pictures._ At first Glorfindel hadn't thought anything by it. He felt a bit flattered even. Yet the day came, when the King requested sketches of a more private nature.  

Glorfindel allows himself to look at Maeglin's face, when the prince rearranges him to his likening. He knows that the King has given his nephew a list of some kind. 

His breath shakes as rough, dry hands run over his skin and turns him over until he's laying on his back. With a swift movement Maeglin takes the decorative scarf away and uses it instead to bind Glorfindel's hands to the bed post. It's a relief that Maeglin is professional about this.

It's bad enough that Glorfindel can't hide his own reactions. His shaft is hard already, since he couldn't help himself, but rub his aching member against the soft sheets. Which means Maeglin has the best view, when he finally settles at the edge of the bed and takes up pencil and paper again.

"Are you comfortable?" the prince asks and ignores Glorfindel's small whine. 

Relationships between two males aren't forbidden, the King just doesn't like seeing them in public. Glorfindel has no idea what he needs the pictures for and quite frankly he doesn't even want to know, but ... he isn't a saint. He can't deny that his arousal grows with each minute he remains immobile and Maeglin is just _watching._ Looking at him, drawing him how hard he is. Brings to paper how Glorfindel's cheeks redden each time their eyes meet. 

"I want this to be over," Glorfindel whines and rolls his hips. 

They have ritual. Every time they do this, every time Maeglin is finally done, Glorfindel gets his release. 

Maeglin smirks a little, repositions his lover until he has a better view on Glorfindel's ass. 

"Soon," he says. "I promise." 

But it feels like an eternity. 

 

 

 

**# 2**

 

It's been days since they last saw each other and Glorfindel is about to draw Maeglin into a passionate kiss, when his prince murmurs a warning. 

"The King is watching again," he says. Maeglin feels how the Lord freezes beneath his hands.

Since Glorfindel just pulled Maeglin into a private corner he can't exactly say something against it, for they both decided to keep Turgon happy by letting him watch. It doesn't happen often and it's just from afar. Also Turgon has never voiced any desire to partake in those activities. From what Glorfindel understands, Turgon sees him especially as piece of art. Like one would admire a statue. Rumors have it that Turgon had such a statue of Elenwë in his house in Tirion. Perhaps Glorfindel is merely a substitute, a male version of his dead cousin. Something Turgon can obsess over.

"What do you want me to do?" Glorfindel rasps quietly and he can't deny that these games get him excited.     

"Keep still," Maeglin says and presses Glorfindel against the wall, until the golden haired Lord feels the cold stone against his shoulders. "Let me do my work." 

Glorfindel groans and hopes Turgon is out of earshot. They have done this before and he is in possession of some self-control, but Maeglin knows better than anyone what to do with his fingers. Right now he's tugging at Glorfindel's tunic, as if he's inspecting the state of his favourite sattle in search how worn it is ... if it needs repairs or if he has to get a new one. It's wrong perhaps, to add such twisted plays into their relationship, but Glorfindel is used to being praised. 

Women on the streets admire him and sigh when he walks by. Married men and women slap his backside and invite him into their beds. He's popular with his follow Lords, the pride of his House and the King respects him. It's refreshing, being looked at as his he has faults. As if there's room for improvement. 

Knowing fingers open his belt and a fresh breeze causes Glorfindel to shiver. He wants to do nothing more than grab Maeglin, press him tight against his body and rub their erections together. Yet he can't, because the slightest twitch is enough to make Maeglin draw away. There'll be no skin contact unless Glorfindel is keeping still. Very still. 

"Please," Glorfindel begs as the torture continues.

His eyes travel over the sun bathed side the building looming over them, while they stand hidden in the shadows. Is Turgon somewhere behind those windows? Is the King watching how his nephew undress his favourite piece of art? Glorfindel bites down on his lips as Maeglin casually pinches a nipple and then moves on the undo the breaches of his pants. 

Fingers wrap themselves around his hard shaft and start stroking him. Glorfindel trembles violently. It shouldn't be _this easy_ for Maeglin, but right now Glorfindel is hyper sensitive. He can hear the mice in the bushes, the birds in the trees, the servants chatting over the fall and the usual noise coming from the market in the distance. Only the well-chosen spot is the reason, why they haven't been caught yet. Never have been, so far, aside from the king. 

"Lómion, please, I ... I can't," Glorfindel moans his warning. The use of his mother name is the usual sign, when it gets too much. 

No one calls Maeglin by his mother name, it's an honor he allows only very few. 

Not that Glorfindel cares, when Maeglin strokes him _just right_ and he comes, barely moving, not counting his slightly shaking hips. 

"Well done," Maeglin praises and tugs him away, dressing his lover while Glorfindel attempts to calm down his breathing. "You did good, we should do this more often." 

"If you want," Glorfindel pants and clings to Maeglin, since his own legs are too weak to support him. Turgon must be long gone now. He never stays for the aftermath. "Just warn me next time, alright?" 

 

 

 

**# 3**

 

Since the King likes to surround himself with the Lords that help to govern his city, most celebrations are held in the palace. A new child, a coming of age party or other important holidays is the perfect occasion to gather in the empty palace and fill it with people. Glorfindel honestly can't say, what kind of excuse Penlod pulled out of his hat in order to organize his feast, but it ended with him being dressed in a white expensive tunic, while everyone waits for the King to appear. Glorfindel ducks behind a pillar, when he sees Idril approaching. The princess looks lovely as always, but it's not exactly a secret she's been husband-hunting ever since she officially came of age a few decades ago. 

"Get in here, if you want to hide," a very familiar voice tells him and Glorfindel lets himself be drawn into a small chamber. 

Maeglin claims his mouth, before he has any chance to greet his lover. Their mouths meet, eager and desperate, it's been a while since they had the chance to be alone with each other. Their duties don't allow much room for leisure activities, because Maeglin spends a lot of time in the forge or searches the mountains for new metals. Sometimes Glorfindel is allowed to accompany him, yet Maeglin is often too busy to pay much attention to Glorfindel. 

"I missed you," Glorfindel pants, when they finally part. "I was lonely without you." 

"Good to hear, because I've plans for tonight," Maeglin says and his grip around Glorfindel's neck becomes possessive. 

They're more or less the same height. With a Sindar as parent, Maeglin grew up faster than others around his age while all the hard work of hauling stones and crafting weapons caused him to fill out nicely. He isn't the small scared boy any longer that first came into the city. 

Quite the opposite, if Glorfindel judges the gleam in Maeglin's eyes correctly. 

"How do you intend to make sure, we escape the King in time?" Glorfindel wants to know.

Behind the door he can hear the voices of numerous guests. His heart beats against his chest, because it would so easy for someone to come into this room and discover them. It'd be a scandal. The best kind of gossip for the Lords and Ladies. The King, of course, would be furious. Turgon likes to make sure that no one else but him gets to ogle at his favourite piece of art.  Maeglin he sees as extension of himself. The part that is allowed to touch, something the King would never lower himself to do so.

"I'll take care of my uncle," Maeglin growls and pulls the collar of Glorfindel's tunic away to leave a small bite. "But I wanted to know if there's something you'd do for me." 

Aredhel's son barely waits for Glorfindel to agree. Already he has turned him around and bend over a dresser.

"Yes, please fuck me," Glorfindel moans. "It's been way too long." 

Far too eager, given how they didn't look the door and Glorfindel's naked ass would on display for half of Gondolin to see if someone walked in on them right now. Yet Glorfindel doesn't care. It has been truly far too long ever since Maeglin took him into his bed. Not with Turgon watching half the time, directing how much time they had before they had to return to their duties again. Making out in the gardens is one thing, but Glorfindel _missed_ being able to press his naked body against Maeglin's.

"As much as I want to, we don't have enough time for that." Maeglin's hands run over Glorfindel's bare cheeks and fingers disappear between them. "So I came up with something that wil let you know you're mine."

Glorfindel's breath hitches, when the fingers breach him and he hopes that musicians next door will be loud enough to drown out his moans. 

 

 

 

 

**# 4**

 

That Maeglin is possessive dawned on Glorfindel very soon into their physical relationship, yet he could never quite tell what the Prince thought about the King's behavior. As it turns out, Maeglin is less than pleased and doesn't like to share. From Glorfindel's point of view it looks a bit like a power play. Why else would Maeglin asks, force him, challenge him to wear a hard prodding shaft beneath his tunic that reminds Glorfindel of his lover ever step that he takes?

Glorfindel clutches his cup of wine and is very glad that he's already sitting down. The polished wood is big, especially since they hadn't a lot of time for preparation. Or it's a deliberate calculation on Maeglin's part.     

Clenching around the toy as reminder, Glorfindel can't exactly say that he disapproves. Once again Turgon has chosen a spot in his vicinity. Close enough to send him appreciative looks, while they're holding a conversation. For anyone else it might seem as if they're friends. That Turgon favours him. Yet in the last weeks the King's behavior turned from amusing to annoying to worrying. So far Glorfindel hasn't said anything, because he never caught Turgon watching with such intensity until now. He's far too used to spectators and others trying to bask in his involuntary popularity to make a fuss about it, especially if makes the King happy.

Recently though the King's behavior made him uncomfortable. It's no longer a game and he fears that Turgon is growing bolder.

"Tell us, Itarillë," Glorfindel tries to shift the attention away from him, "Haven't you written a play recently? When do we get to see played by actors?"

Idril is glad for the attention and launches into a explicit recount of how far they've gotten already. While she ropes Rog's wife into helping her with the costumes, Glorfindel drifts away a little. The toy is pressing against his insides, held in place by silk wrapped around his thighs and his crotch. Effectively he doesn't have to worry about embarrassing himself, yet the low thrum of pleasure and pain just reminds him of what he doesn't have.

Maeglin is at the other end of the room, talking to Rog as he usually does on these events. They're friends and companions, often work side by side or relieve the other the taxing duty of keeping the forges hot and running. As much as he wants to join them, Glorfindel can't leave unless the King demises him. 

If even, it's not as if they can as lovers in public. The law doesn't punish same sex relationships, but with a King like Turgon, who thinks proper decor is everything, an open relationship is impossible. Suspicious how most of the Lords have wives and children already. Glorfindel has been able to escape so far, yet only because Idril has her eyes on him.

Glorfindel would even go for it, as long as it meant to have Turgon off his back. For the interest into the princess' possible sexual activities by the public was to great to allow even the slightest rumor. The King guarded his daughter fiery and was far greater stricter with her than with his nephew. Marrying Idril would be Glorfindel's last resort, in case the King ever intended to take him into his bed. 

Though losing Maeglin would hit him hard. But he doubts that this scenario would ever come to pass. The King hadn't touched anyone, neither man nor woman, since he lost his wife.

Likely that the dance of hidden games, stolen glances and the knowledge of being watched sometimes would continue.  

_I want you, my love. I want you so much,_ Glorfindel thinks and clenches around the toy again. His lover was right, it's the perfect reminder, who he truly belongs to. Turgon will never guess what's inside him, that the toy hold him open for Maeglin later. _I want to push you against the wall and kiss you senseless. I want to be able to hold your hand without having to worry what your uncle might think._

It hurts that he can't and probably never will.

That pain is worse than anything the shaft inside his ass could do to him.

 

 

 

**# 5**

 

Later, much later that night they're finally alone. Somehow Idril managed to get enough wine into her father that Penlod and Elgamoth had to carry him to his chambers. As usual with feats like this, the King prefers to stay in his bed the next day. So they don't have to worry about being discovered. Glorfindel is guest inside the royal district often enough that the servants don't question his presence anymore. 

Not that this matters right now. Half Gondolin could be peering through the window. Glorfindel is far more occupied with Maeglin beautiful long fingers. 

"Stars, Maeglin, would you...," Glorfindel tries to encourage his lover, but after a rough kissing session where they got rid most of their clothing, Maeglin apparently decided to take his time.  "Don't make me beg, I've been waiting for so long for this." 

"You should be glad that I'm as impatient as you're." Maeglin fumbles around with the knots that hold the toy in place. He can't help but admire Glorfindel for playing along. He half expected him to say no, but his lover jumped at the idea. Glorfindel likes adventures and experiments as much as he does. "Or I'd tie you to the bed again and make your body sing." 

"Not today," Glorfindel groans and peers over his shoulder. 

His heart beats faster at the sight of Maeglin completely undressed. The Prince is a private person, who rarely talks and prefers to work in solitude. The eye of the public rests on both of them, as do the spies of the King. Such kind of intimacy is far and few between. 

Maeglin kisses Glorfindel's shoulder as he lines up behind him. "Not right now, true. But the night is still young. Let's see what I'll do to you in a few hours." 

"Take it out, take it out," Glorfindel pleads and rocks back into Maeglin's hand, when the Elf reaches down to remove the toy. It glistens with sweat and oil in the half-light of the candles. "I had in me the entire evening, Maeglin. I thought of you every time I felt your uncle's eyes on me." 

"He'll never have you," Maeglin promises and draws out the toy to place it with his own shaft. "Trust me in this, he won't. No matter how far his obsession goes to replace his wife, I'll know to prevent the worst." 

"I don't care," Glorfindel breathes and reaches behind him to grab Maeglin by his hair and pull him closer. 

They were back to chest now and Glorfindel sighs, when Maeglin finally slides into him with one smooth thrust. Like before with the toy, there's the slight feeling of _too much, too much, too much,_ but he ignores it. Revels instead in the intensity until it's difficult to breath. His thighs shake as Maeglin begins to move, drives Glorfindel half mad with the circling movements of his hips.

Yet it's perfect. 

It's the height of the games they've been playing the last week and finally they're alone. They don't have to fear that Turgon is watching or interfering in some manner. When the quick jabs of Maeglin's thrusts, make him cry out a hand comes up and covers his mouth. It's an reflex and a precaution. Even this late at night, there are servants around and they might recognize Glorfindel's voice. Not that particular cares at this moment, because the hand over his mouth and nose makes him a bit dizzy.  

Glorfindel wants to gasp, moan or scream, but Maeglin doesn't allow it yet. Instead his right hand sneaks around and his thumb brushes over the wet flushed head of Glorfindel's cock. 

At this point, there's not a lot what Glorfindel can do. He doesn't have the will to drag it out any longer and tumbles over the edges. Reaches his orgasm and moans long and loud as Maeglin follows him quickly, pumping him full with his seed. Both of them end up laying on their backs, panting harshly while their bodies still sing with pleasure. Since he's the first to recover, Glorfindel props himself up on one elbow and watches Maeglin. 

His dark haired lover smiles and pulls him down again, kissing him properly. Finally they've some time for themselves, even if it's just for a single night. 

"Lómion," Glorfindel whispers as he lies on top of his lover a bit later. His head rest against Maeglin's shoulder, while sticky mess between Glorfindel's legs is slowly drying. "Do you think we'll free to do this, whenever we want some day?" 

Maeglin's fingers, which have been playing with the golden strands on of lover's head, stop for a moment. 

"We're immortal. Chances are high that things aren't going to stay like this forever," he finally says. "We just have to pull through and stay true to each other." 

A weird combination of anxiety and happiness swirls in Glorfindel's gut, when he looks up and meets Maeglin's dark eyes. He feels safe. Wanted. Kept. And if Maeglin can believe in a better future, then so can he. It'll make Turgon's gaze easier to endure. 

**Author's Note:**

> To explain this mess a bit, Turgon is a hardcore defender of LACE ... while Maeglin ... well, not so much. Glorfindel just doesn't care in general and should be careful around the King . Who is in deep, deep denial about feelings and sex. Thankfully there's Maeglin, who has a far better idea. His different upbringing was good for something. It's just up for debate if Eöl and Aredhel were responsible parents and explained what consent is - or if Maeglin had to figure it out himself via excessive opportunity watching his parents have sex. (Given this fic, probably the latter). Also, yes I believe that Idril lived in a gilded cage and wasn't allowed to take lovers. So when Turgon vaguely agrees that Tuor is a good person / honorable man, she grabbed him and tied him to a bed for an entire week. 
> 
> Therefore Gondolin is mess, but we knew that already.
> 
> PS. ... how does it come that there are no fics with bottom Glorfindel? This has to change immediately!


End file.
